


The Damned

by ConventionalExy (Conventionals)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Musical References, POV Alternating, POV Andrew Minyard, POV Neil Josten, Past Rape/Non-con, Punk!Au, Riko Moriyama is His Own Warning, Torture, Warning: Drake Spear, and punk!neil, goth!nicky, i guess, idk - Freeform, or just music AU, punk!Andrew, skater!aaron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29871015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conventionals/pseuds/ConventionalExy
Summary: When Neil was 8 and still called Nathaniel, his mother grabbed him, two duffle bags and 5 million dollars and ran away with him, away from Baltimore and the sadist he called a father.They ran and ran, never stopping, never looking back.When Neil was 17, then called Alex, he decided he had enough of his mother and her abuse masked as care and running, he decided he had enough of never being anyone for long. Never being real. He was 17 and angry. What was the point of all this survival and running if they never lived? Never got anywhere?So he ran away on his own this time. He left a note warning her not to come after him, stole a car and drove across the country, picking up emergency stashes on the way.He got 2 million in money and bonds by the time Neil Josten, 18 and fresh out of high school reached Millport.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Make me a real boy

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I writing this? Well, absolutely self indulgent.  
> It was inspired by the video for Green Day's Jesus of Suburbia, Rebel Rebel (a pretty popular Carry On fic) and by the idea of what Andrew would look like with a mohawk.  
> This is my first work in this fandom, at least the first one I'm posting (I'm also writing a soulmate AU but I doubt it will see the light of day).  
> So give it a chance and let me know what you think! This chapter is a bit short, more like a preface than anything else but I kinda just wanted to see if this works.

When Neil was 8 and still called Nathaniel, his mother grabbed him, two duffle bags and 5 million dollars and ran away with him, away from Baltimore and the sadist he called a father.

They ran and ran, never stopping, never looking back. 

When Neil was 17, then called Alex, he decided he had enough of his mother, her abuse masked as care and running, he decided he had enough of never being anyone for long. Never being real. He was 17 and angry. What was the point of all this survival and running if they never lived? Never got anywhere? 

So he ran away on his own this time. He left a note warning her not to come after him, stole a car and drove all the way across the country picking up emergency stashes on the way. 

He got 2 million in money and bonds by the time Neil Josten, 18 and fresh out of high school reached Millport.

…..

Neil sat quietly on the floor of the room he had picked as his own. He was still learning to sleep without his mother next to him so he was tired, running on little under five hours of sleep. 

The house Neil chose to squat in was perfect. On the edge of town, empty and just falling apart enough that people wouldn't go near it. Or so he thought. 

He guessed it was around nine at night when he heard the door open and heard the footsteps on the ground floor. It made his skin crawl and his heart race. Had his father's men found him already? Was he going to die in nowhere-fucking-Millport where no one would find his body for weeks, if ever? 

Before he could even think about it he was on his feet, the pistol under his shirt in hands as he made his way out of the room he had claimed as his own. Back to the wall, ears listening for any movement, eyes scanning the shadows. As he moved the footsteps and voices became clearer, as did the words they were saying. 

They sounded young, around Neil’s age if the depth of the voices were anything to go by, maybe slightly older. Not kids but not real adults.

And then his heart stopped at a familiar name. 

"Kevin Day, the runaway, the rebel without a cause. More like a coward who's gonna get us killed." A man complained. He sounded young and annoyed. 

Neil focused on the footsteps, trying to pick up any little difference between them. 

There were four people in total. And one of them was Kevin Day. 

How the fuck did Kevin Day find him? What was Kevin Day doing in an abandoned house in Millport?  _ Why _ did Keving Day find him? It had been years.

"Feel free to leave whenever," man number two said. His voice was almost identical to the first man, except with an added drawl to it, almost like he was bored. "I'm sure Luther will be thrilled to come pick you up in Arizona." 

"No one is going anywhere, that's not the plan!" Kevin said. 

Fuck. 

"Yeah guys," Man number three. "We stick to Kevin's plan, get to his dad's and figure it out from there. The place is old but sound, I'm sure we can spend the night and get a used car Monday morning to get us to South Carolina."

"Whatever," man number one said. "Wait, where's Andrew?" 

And too late Neil noticed the footsteps behind him. He didn’t even turn and quickly felt the cold press of a blade to his neck, right over his jugular. 

Fuck. 

"Well hello there, boy with a gun. How about you drop it before I cut your head off for eavesdropping?" Man number two, apparently Andrew, said calmly into Neil's ear. 

Neil would never mistake that tone as actual calm. It was the tone of voice a man used when he was in absolute control of the situation. It carried the unspoken promise that he'd do just what he said and not even blink at Neil's corpse. 

It was the voice of a man who knew how to use the weapon he wielded.

Neil dropped the gun without being told twice, the heavy thud of the metal hitting the floor must have warned the other three as suddenly there were footsteps rushing up the stairs.

The knife didn't move even slightly from his neck when the three men stopped in front of the two, eyes wide in surprise and worry but not fear.

Neil took them in quickly and could tell instantly they were not a threat to Neil. The threat in this group was whoever was behind him. 

Kevin looked so different from when Neil had known him, taller, the ‘2’ tattooed on his face where once upon a time it had been drawn in sharpie. He wore ripped and distressed blue jeans and a very stained white t-shirt with a faded image of Elvis Presley on it, his hair messy and without any product and non-descript sneakers- a far cry from the child born from a rock star and raised as one. 

Next to Kevin was a blond with short hair with shaved sides that reminded Neil of every skater kid he ever met for some reason, baggy black pants and a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and some of the oldest looking Converse shoes Neil ever saw, and that's saying something. He was also short. Shorter than Neil’s 5’3.

And next to the blond was another tall guy. He looked like he cared about his looks at least a little more than the other two, in jeans with no holes in them and a white Beatles t-shirt with a black long sleeve underneath. Also wearing Converse. Also a little too much eyeliner and necklaces and even what looked like a fucking dog collar.

“Hey, Buffalo Bill, didn’t your mommy tell you not to stare?”

“Andrew, don’t kill him,” Beatles guy said. “Andrew.”

Andrew scoffed behind Neil and removed the knife from his throat before he had Neil pinned against the wall with one forearm pressed to Neil’s neck.

Oh. Andrew was blond guy’s twin by the looks of it. Same blond hair except that his was cut into a mohawk and pushed back, messy but without any tangles. He was also dressed in black from the heavy army-grade combat boots he wore to the Buzzcocks t-shirt and black armbands covering his forearms, knife nowhere to be seen.

Neil’s heart ached for a second. Buzzcocks were one of his mother’s favorite bands.

“I should be the one asking, I was here first,” Neil finally managed to get out, all shock from seeing Kevin Day gone from his body. When Andrew didn’t say anything else or move, he sighed. “I’m just squatting here for a while.”

“You’re a runaway,” Andrew stated. “With a gun.”

“Guy’s gotta protect himself.” 

Andrew motioned for Kevin to take the gun from where it had landed on the floor before stepping back from Neil in a gesture most people would take in good faith. Neil though, knew better. Andrew was still a threat, armed with knives and Neil’s gun at his disposal.

“Sorry about Andrew,” Beatles guy apologized. “He tends to stab first and ask questions later. I’m Nicky by the way, and these are Kevin” he motioned towards Kevin, “And Aaron, Andrew’s twin. But I think that part is obvious.” 

Neil nodded in acknowledgment and quickly stepped away from the wall, putting his back to the hallway. He could run off and jump down to the bottom floor through a broken window in the room he was staying. He should have time for that if he really had to make a run for it. “I’m Neil.”

“Nice meeting you, Neil,” Nicky said and Neil’s heart stopped. Hearing his name from someone else’s lips for the first time was almost a spell. It made him real. Neil was finally beginning to take shape. “What’s a cutie like you doing here all by yourself?” 

Behind Nicky Aaron scoffed, “Can you control yourself for once?” 

Neil took a preventive step back as Nicky took another two forward. Neil knew, objectively, that he was trying to be friendly, knew what it looked like and that it wasn’t a threat, but old habits die hard and these were still complete strangers who had  _ also _ broken into an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere.

Andrew was in front of his friend in a second, putting himself between Nicky and Neil but not turning his back to Neil, face blank. “That’s enough, Nicky. Don’t scare our host just yet.” 

Nicky put both hands up in an act of surrender and looked straight at Neil, pointedly trying to avoid looking at Andrew. “Hey, if you’re all by yourself you should come with us.” 

“No he shouldn’t!” Kevin protested. “We don’t know him, we just know he had a gun and is squatting in an abandoned house all by himself! He could be a fugitive! Murderer! Serial Killer!” 

“Too young to be a serial killer,” Andrew drawled, head tilted slightly to the side as if studying Neil for the first time. “Is that piece of shit a couple miles back yours?”

“Piece of shit? At least I have a car,” Neil scoffed, slightly offended at the jab at his stolen companion.

Yes, the Ford he stole was a piece of shit, it had no alarm and the keys had been left in the ignition, almost as if someone  _ wanted  _ the car to be stolen so they could try and claim some kind of insurance money on it. It was a piece of shit, objectively, gray and old and dirty, but it had gotten him from Ohio all the way to Arizona and for that, Neil was grateful.

“We could use a car, Andrew” Nicky continued in the friendly tone he had used before but with a different twist to it that took Neil a second to register. Nicky was speaking German.

The language had Neil’s heart racing again. He remembered the names he had in that country, the pain he felt in that country. It was quick, but it was there.

“We have the money to buy a car,” Andrew replied in the same language calmly. “We can find another place to spend the weekend and find a place to buy a car in town on Monday. We don’t have to take in a stray. He might have rabies. Or fleas. He definitely looks like he has fleas.”

Neil wanted to protest but figured it was better to stay quiet and let them think he couldn’t understand them. 

“The sooner we get to Palmetto the better. We attract too much attention, Andrew. Threaten the kid or something, tell him about the Foxhole, I don’t know! But if he has a car, he can be useful, right?”

Aaron scoffed. “What kind of runaway has a car?” 

Andrew then sighed and turned his undivided attention to Neil, hazel eyes glinting with the sharpness of a man who assessed a threat and was ready to act.

Neil could be a threat, but only if they proved to be one. Kevin clearly hadn’t recognized him, which meant his brown contacts and black hair dye were doing its job. He supposed his clothes also helped- his current baggy jeans and red t-shirt two sizes too big a far cry from the leather he had worn when they first met almost ten years ago. His clothes were likely the reason Andrew said he had fleas now that he thought about it. Asshole.

“We could use your car. We’re going to Palmetto, South Carolina. To The Foxhole. Got anything better to do, runaway?” Andrew asked in English.

“Andrew!” Nicky gasped as if shocked at his friend’s lack of manners yet again. “Again, sorry about Andrew. The Foxhole is a shelter or sorts, for people like us you know? Runaways,” he gestured at Kevin, “Kids from messy homes,” he gestured at Aaron, “Kids that got kicked out,” the pointed at himself with both thumbs in a very self-deprecating way, “and even psycho midget punks with homicidal tendencies. It’s a safe place. I don’t know you but I think you’d fit in. So? Wanna come?” 

Neil thought about thinking about it. He could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head telling him to run, to not trust anyone. He could hear his mother yelling at him for even talking to them, for being stupid enough to let Andrew sneak up on him like he had and put a knife to his throat.

But hadn’t he run away from her for this? For this exact thing? Friends? Hadn’t he run away to  _ live _ instead of survive? To make  _ Neil Josten _ a real boy. To give Neil Josten the possibility of a future.

So even as he thought about saying no, he nodded. “As long as you don’t mind riding in a stolen car.” 

And he thought there was a glint of amusement in Andrew’s bored eyes. 

…..

Andrew insisted on driving. He couldn’t trust the runaway with the dyejob and the contacts. He had stayed too calm with a knife to his throat, his gun was too heavy to be fake or just for shows and he held that duffle bag too close to him.

And the way those sharp eyes had looked at his family, analyzing and studying them as if looking for weaknesses he could exploit... 

Andrew wouldn’t trust his family in his hands. Neil was a runner, too pretty to really be a street kid, a mystery and a bad idea all neatly wrapped into a skinny frame.

So he listened to his cousin and Kevin argue about the influence punk had in the early goth scene for a while until Neil reached over and turned on the radio with a huff, clearly having enough of the discussion in the backseat. 

And lo and behold, yet another surprise from the walking question mark. Anarchy in the UK.

“Sex Pistols? Pretty basic, don’t you think?” 

Neil replied by rolling his eyes and turning up the volume, effectively shutting off the conversation, “It’s a mixtape!”

Andrew shrugged one shoulder and lit a cigarette from the pack he had already placed on the dashboard for easy access. If he was honest, Neil’s apparent taste in brit-punk beat Nicky’s German goth, Kevin’s never-ending guitar solos and Aaron’s ridiculous current obsession with The Offspring any day of the week.


	2. This is why we can't have nice things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read and reread this chapter about a thousand times already, edited and reedited and still feel like it is too long and nothing happens in it, but I have decided to post it anyway. My biggest goal with this fic is to simply write. I just want to get back into writing like I did before, without a care in the world, not overthinking it, just having fun. And I am having fun with this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

They reached South Carolina in three days due to stops for gas, food, naps and bathroom breaks and the slightly longer stop they made in Arkansas where they abandoned their trusty Ford and picked up a Volkswagen. 

Andrew wouldn’t lie, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about this whole trip and how they came to be there. The whole domino effect started when he beat up some skinheads that had tried to mess with Nicky outside a rave. It led to them making a run for it as the police raided the place because some idiot clubber had called them thinking Andrew would beat them to death. Which led to them running head first into Kevin Day, dressed in the same outfit he still wore, red guitar clutched in his left hand. 

_“I saw you beat up those guys. I could use your help.”_

And then, with a scared idiot with one of the most recognizable faces in the world on their heels and no place to go, they ended up at the Hemmick’s. And Aaron was there, fresh out of rehab still mourning the piece of shit Andrew had killed for him. 

And then a little while passed, Nicky's bruises healed, Aaron started going back to the skatepark… And Luther raised a hand to Nicky when he came down with eyeliner one day. And Andrew held him at knifepoint because he couldn't stand the man and his stupidity, his superiority complex and his holier-than-thou attitude.

He should win an award for not killing the man.

Meanwhile Aaron got the keys to the Hemmick's car and then they ran off, pawned Kevin’s guitar after he signed it, ditched their “borrowed” car and bought a used one that looked like it could get them to South Carolina- but didn’t.

_“My father lives there. He runs this shelter thing, The Foxhole. It’s for teens and young adults who have nowhere else to go. He helps people stand on their own, teaches music to kids… You know, tries to help his community.”_

_“And why aren’t you back in your billion dollar mansion with your better half throwing that bad boy smile around? Why are you running?”_

_Kevin was quiet for a long time before he answered._

_“I found out some stuff. Riko tried to convince our label that they should drop me, that I couldn’t play like I used to after the accident,” he sighed, long and pained. “But they wouldn’t drop me, so he made them. And bought off every other label. And kicked me out and temporarily cut me off from everything- my money, my mom’s money, the house we grew up in. All I had was that guitar.”_

_“So you went to a rave,” Aaron said sarcastically._

_“No! I was just walking by and stopped when I saw Andrew beating the life out of some Nazis.”_

_“And he’s been following me like a lost fucking puppy ever since.”_

When their stupidly cheap car broke in The Middle-Of-Nowhere fucking Arizona, Andrew was ready to accept his fate. He had lived 19 years already and that was a few too many in his opinion. He’d die in the middle of Arizona without his MP3, with three changes of clothes stuffed in a backpack, hair looking like shit, skin feeling sticky and clammy and gross from not showering and three idiots complaining the whole time. Just his luck he wouldn't have a peaceful death from exhaustion, alone and content.

And then they found Millport, a place that only seemed to show up in maps that were sold _in_ Millport. A place so small they didn’t even have a fucking hotel for them to spend the night.

And, because Andrew’s life couldn’t get any easier, oh no sir, Nicky decided to pick up a stray they found _squatting_ with a _gun_ in a fucking _abandoned house_ out on The Outskirts of The Middle of Nowhere. A stray with a car and no filter and a pretty face, but a stray.

Neil had good taste in music, Andrew could at least admit that. He also seemed to always buy Andrew’s brand of cigarettes even if he never smoked them. And he knew how to steal a car like a pro, which was one useful skill Andrew could appreciate.

But.

Neil was a liar. Andrew could tell even though not a single tell was visible if you weren’t looking for it. 

Neil Josten was a liar. He lied about how he learned to hotwire a car, he lied about his clothes, eye color, motivations and wants. He lied so much that Andrew suspected the black hair he sported wasn’t just a statement, but also a lie. 

Neil Josten was hiding too much. What kind of abused runaway carried a loaded gun on him? How did he end up squatting in Millport if he wasn't from the area? Had he killed someone? Was the skinny kid a con-man? Those were all questions that kept nagging at him, pushing its way into his brain, and Andrew hated it. 

He’d have to come up with a plan, find a way to crack the idiot kid before he could be trouble. 

But that was something for later, because now he finally had a proper shower to use. 

Andrew locked and unlocked the door three times just to be sure it was properly closed before undressing and stepping under the hot water. He felt himself relax as the water washed away the last three days of their trip, he relaxed even more at the feeling of the soap on his skin helping him get rid of all the grime and sweat that had clung to his skin, the cheap shampoo on his hair making it go from dull and oily to soft and clean and then finally the super soft towel against his body. 

He took a moment to ground himself when he was finally dry and clean. He first pulled on a clean pair of black briefs. So fucking clean. Then black cargo pants, soft and clean and such a far cry from the jeans he had been wearing for days. After that came the t-shirt, black and soft with one of his favorite bands on it- Suicidal Tendencies- and his black boots. Finally, he finished by putting on the armbands that covered the scars on his forearms.

Finally he could look at himself in the mirror. He felt clean, fresh and smelled good. He felt and looked human. Andrew was satisfied. 

He debated putting something on his hair and settled for letting it air dry and do its own thing, and then he was out of the safety of a locked bathroom and out on the hallway of a stranger’s house. 

David Wymack was Kevin’s father apparently. A father who didn't even know he had a son because the great Keyleigh Day, founder of Exyrecords, talented guitarist with multiple platinum albums under her name Keyleigh Day, had never told poor Wymack about the little rock star they conceived. 

And of course, David Wymack had to have some kind of Bono Vox complex, running a full on fucking shelter for homeless youth, his own indie label, a few famous songs under his belt and a bleeding fucking heart for taking in a few more strays. 

Andrew decided he would curse the day Grandma Day took little Keyleigh for her first music class until the day he died. Rock be damned, music be damned. Kevin Day was too much of a hassle in Andrew’s life at this point and all because his mother picked up a guitar.

“Andrew?” Wymack called from the kitchen. “Get in here.” 

Andrew complied. 

Wymack was annoying as all hell, but one thing he was not was a threat. Even though Andrew saw the way Neil had recoiled from the man during their first meeting, the way he seemed weary of the man’s very existence, Andrew could see that he didn’t have bad intentions towards them- he had known too many men who did take pleasure in hurting those in vulnerable positions to know one when he saw one.

Wymack had a lot of people in vulnerable positions at his disposal, but he had a look in his eyes, the one that let Andrew know he knew what it was like to be in their place. 

So Andrew went to the kitchen, ignored the man sitting at the small kitchen table and went straight for the bottle of whiskey, poured himself some and lit a cigarette once he hopped up on the kitchen counter before even registering the bewildered look on Wymack’s face.

“Fucking punks,” he scoffed, expression changing to annoyance. “First your twin stole my fucking skateboard and ran out, then that skinny friend of yours drank all my fucking coffee and didn’t make another pot and now here you are, stealing my fucking whiskey and smoking in my kitchen while I'm trying to eat fucking brunch in peace. Fucking punks."

"I'm not a punk," Andrew shrugged. "Aaron went out?" 

Wymack nodded. "He and Nicky wanted to check out the local skate part, see what kind of people hang around there. You planning on meeting them?"

Andrew shook his head. He had more pressing matters in the form of a skinny liar. 

Wymacm huffed and nodded, "I have a gig tonight. Takeout menus are on the bottom drawer," he pointed. "Figure out your sleeping arrangements for tonight, I'll help you guys get settled in the shelter tomorrow. I should be back by 3am but you never know. Don't break anything, don't steal anything and don't kill each other, sounds fair?" 

Andrew offered him a two finger salute and hopped off the counter. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and was about to pour himself some more when he noticed the annoyance on Wymack's face and decided to be self-indulgent and took the whole bottle with him on his way out of the kitchen. He flickered ash onto the floor on accident but didn't make a move to clean it or even acknowledge it fell.

When he got to the living room Kevin Day already had a guitar on his lap and headphones on, fingering some song Andrew was sure he wouldn't give two shits about. Keeping him company was the one and only Neil Josten, his gaze going from the bass guitar on the wall to Kevin, filled with emotions that were too raw- sadness, longing, curiosity.

Kevin had asked Andrew for protection, had told him about the Moriyamas and how they had a lot of power behind them in the form of the fucking mafia, how The Ravens were essentially disposable to them, how Riko had threatened to break his hand when people started talking about how Kevin should go solo, how Kevin was the best guitarist out of the two, how Tetsuji had used his power as Kevin's guardian to essentially cut him off from every ounce of independence he had- his money, his chair on the board of the label his mother helped create, his contract. Kevin had been living in captivity inside his own home for months before he ran while Tetsuji weaved some story about a Sabbatical- Andrew had promised to keep him safe from the Moriyamas and in return Kevin promised to make Andrew enjoy music again. Andrew kept his promises so he couldn't help but wonder if Neil had some connection to the Moriyamas.

Andrew listened to music and he was a pretty decent pianist and drummer and singer according to people (well, decent wasn't the word people used when they heard him play the drums, more like extremely talented, unique, one of a kind, but Andrew couldn't care less), but his enjoyment of music was left at the Spear's household all those years ago. It was left on the piano sitting in the middle of the Spear's conservatory, on the music sheets he left on the bedroom floor, on the dust-cover of the records Cass used to play all day long. 

No. Andrew didn't enjoy music anymore, he only listened to it, the angriest music he could get his hands on, and screamed along to the lyrics, banging on drums. Because that was all he had left inside him: anger and desire for anarchy and mayhem. 

And right now his unshakable resolve had found a target in the shape of Neil Josten and his mysteries. 

…..

Wymack's place was… A home. It was the kind of place Neil only ever really saw on TV, with grass and two stories and lived in. He had a piano where a dining room should be, black and imposing and expensive. He had guitars and bass guitars lining up his walls, a full studio in the basement with drums and recording equipment and all kinds of instruments, platinum and gold records lining the hallways, posters and memorabilia all over the place... And so many albums. Wymack had CDs and Vinyls and tapes all over the house from Elvis to Avril Lavigne, American classics, British punk and pop, Brazilian bossa nova, Japanese metal… You name it, he had it. 

It felt like home. It looked like the kind of place Neil dreamed of living in some day. It hurt to be in there. It hurt even more to see Kevin playing, so casual and happy. 

Neil hadn't touched an instrument since the day he first met Kevin Day. He had been eight and his father had taken him to Evermore Studios one day and left him to jam with Kevin and Riko. Back then the two boys were still having guitar lessons, dressed in casual yet expensive outfits- much like Neil had been. Neil had been studying guitar then, much like them. They had jammed all afternoon, talking about all the complicated songs they could come up with with three guitarists. He had been happy. 

And then they saw his father cutting a man to pieces in one of the recording studios. And that night his mother took him and ran. 

Neil hadn't touched a guitar since, but looking at the bass on the wall, orange and white and screaming for attention, Neil felt tempted. 

"Instruments don't bite," Neil was snapped back to reality at the sound of Andrew Minyard's voice. The asshole had taken so long in the bathroom Neil actually considered getting excited that he had left through the window. 

But Neil wasn't that lucky. Here was the punk-ass midget, clean and looking somewhat comfortable in what looked like clean clothes, hair still damp from using up all the hot water. 

Neil got to know him pretty well for the three days they spent locked in a car together- got to know everyone really. 

Aaron complained about Neil not having any California bands in his collection, complained about not having his skateboard on him, complained about the heat and the car. He complained, Neil realized. That was what Aaron did. He complained because he was unhappy. All the time.

Nicky didn't complain but he also never shut up. He went on and on about his boyfriend Erik from Germany, talked about the amazing German goth Erik introduced him to, went on and on about the metal scene and how he wished Neil had stolen a car with a better radio so he could show him some songs. 

Kevin only ever talked about music, complaining about the simple chords in Neil's song choices, the progression, the predictability in the way some songs had been structured. 

And then there was Andrew, the man who only seemed interested in chain-smoking across the United States, eating way too many Snickers bars and having too much coffee and listening to Neil's mixtape on repeat (a mixtape with The Buzzcocks, The Damned, The Cramps, Sex Pistols and The Clash). So he had good taste in _something_ at least. Andrew also seemed to be a contrarian. According to Nicky, every single piercing he got on his ear and the gages were done in a single day because Nicky's father, Luther, had said something about how he thought piercings were abominations, for fags, degenerates and a sure way to not get into heaven. 

According to Aaron, when a woman in the grocery store had praised their matching haircuts, he had shaved the sides off and taken to wearing it in a lazy mohawk. He punched people when told not to, he went to juvie as a teen and had only learned new and creative ways of hurting people there. He wasn't one to be taken lightly. Andrew Minyard was a threat, all sharp and jagged edges.

But Andrew didn't talk much at all, he let other people lead the conversation and chimed in sometimes to insult someone or something or to point out that something someone said was factually incorrect. 

Andrew watched. Like a lion. 

"I'm not an idiot," he rolled his eyes. "I just haven't played in years." 

Andrew took a long drink from the bottle of whiskey in his hand then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a drag.

And then he knocked Kevin's headphones off his head, disturbing the musician's practice, and left. 

An hour later Wymack stopped by the living room to ask Kevin and Neil if they wanted to stop by The Foxhole with him and "meet the gang". Kevin and Andrew both went and apparently Nicky and Aaron would be meeting them there, but Neil needed some time alone to deal with more pressing matters. 

He waited until he couldn't hear the car anymore and booked it to the bathroom with his duffle. 

He went through it systematically after locking the door, unfolded and folded his clothes and their tags, cleaned his gun, checked his knives and checked his binder. He counted the money first and then checked the bonds. Everything was where it was supposed to be, even his contacts and extra box of hair dye. 

So he went over the phone numbers in the binder, the contacts he had in case he needed a new identity, a doctor or something else. He saved his uncle's number for last, the one he met briefly in England. His last resource.

Some days he asked why he hadn't called yet. Why he hadn't moved to England and let his family take care of him, but he quickly remembered what being Abram Hartford would mean: the guns, the mafia, the weight the title of Butcher's Son would have and what it would mean. Neil wanted to be away from this world, he had been on the run from people who killed and tortured without care or empathy. He wasn't about to run straight into it again. 

And then there was his mom, somewhere out there, the woman who beat lesson after lesson into him under the pretense of keeping him safe. He wondered if she was safe, if she went back to England or decided to keep running and find a different country to live out the rest of her years. 

When he was done he put everything back in his duffle and started working on a plan. He'd find an apartment and stick around Palmetto for a while even if every cell in his body kept screaming for him to run far away from Kevin Day. Why he wanted to stay was a mystery- maybe because Neil Josten, the identity he had picked for himself, was finally real and tangible, maybe it was because Neil somehow felt _right_ , felt like the name he was supposed to have and he wanted to hold on for as long as he could. 

Because Neil Josten was a runaway, Neil Josten was 18 and out of an abusive household, living on the streets by himself with nothing but a duffle with everything he held dear. Neil Josten liked music, he talked to people and hotwired cars and against all odds had found a group of misfits who seemed to be just as fucked up as he was, who had brought him to a man who had the house Neil wished he had, who offered him a shower and food and left him alone in the house without any fear of Neil stealing anything.

So Neil decided to stay and left the house to go look around for an apartment. 

…..

"The gang", as Wymack had called them, was a specific group of young adults who had found The Foxhole a few years ago and taken to Wymack like no one else. Even though the place was a shelter for dozens of teens and young adults, these ones were "success" stories that stuck around and helped Wymack run the place now. 

Matt Boyd, a former heroin addict with spiky hair and "car dude" vibes and a girlfriend named Dan Wilds, former stripper who dressed like she was ready to be an extra in a Sum-41 music video. She taught dance and he taught practical skills like how to fix a car and build something from scratch.

Allison Reynolds, disowned daughter of millionaires with a Paris Hilton look and a boyfriend named Seth Gordon, depressed pillhead who looked stuck in the 90s in Seattle. She taught the Foxes how to sew, knit and all the good stuff while Seth seemed to be useful for carrying her bags. 

Then there was Renee, all pastel colors and bright smiles. A good Christian girl with a dark glint in her eyes that Andrew could tell hid some hardcore past. She was like a youth pastor, making sure to show kids God was a path they could take. 

There was also Abby, the nurse, and Betsy, the therapist. All a big, happy and fucked up family. 

"So," Wymack started once everyone was seated in the spacious room that was clearly his office. "I called everyone here today because we have some new additions to our little gang for the time being. I was very recently made aware that I have a son," he didn't stop for the gasps or the shock evident on people's faces. "And that this son happens to be Kevin Day."

Kevin offered everyone a small wave at the mention of his name, any cockiness from growing up on the spotlight gone from his face. 

"With Kevin came Andrew and Aaron Minyard, Nicholas Hemmick and Neil Josten. Every single one of them more than qualifies for The Foxhole, and will be sticking around for a while. So play nice and get to know each other."

He gestured for Betsy and Abby to follow him out and left the young adults to fend for themselves. 

Seth was the first one to speak, a look of disdain on his face, "So, child star Kevin Day decided to come all the way down here to slum with us? What is it for? The press, inspiration for a new album?"

"Riko and I won't be playing together ever again. I found out a lot of my life had been a lie, a lot of it had been manipulated and decided it was time to finally break away from them and get to know my father," Kevin stated, plain and simple, his attitude a far cry from the person he was in front of the cameras.

"I'm Nicky," Nicky offered quickly, trying to cut the tension between the two men, "it's really nice meeting you all." 

"Hi guys, and welcome. I'm sure Wymack's gonna help you get settled here when he has some time. Are you staying with him for the time being?" Dan cut in before Sath could say anything else. 

"We are," Nicky nodded. "But if I had known everyone here was so good looking I would have come sooner," he grinned and the lingering look he shot Matt made it clear that he meant the men. 

Matt and Dan both laughed at it, not looking bothered in the slightest. But Seth…

"Wait, so you're a fag?" 

Andrew went still at the word, the memory of the guys who said them before jumping his cousin still too fresh in his mind. 

"I don't like that word," he kept his voice calm, level, while feeling anything but. 

Seth scoffed at Andrew and turned his attention back to Nicky, "Well, I'll take your silence as a yes then."

"I'm gay, yeah, what do you care?" Nicky shot back, seemingly trying to grow a spine after the initial shock. 

It would be fine, except for the fact that Nicholas Hemmick couldn't fight to save his own life. 

"Goth and a fag. Fucking Christ," he rolled his eyes. "This place really is a shelter for hopeless cases."

"I said," Andrew sighed as he got up. He kept his expression bored, eyes on Seth as he slid one of his knives free. "I don't like that word. Don't use it." 

"Life isn't perfect, midget. No one here's gonna cater to your delicate sensibilities. You get offended 'cause you're a fag too?" 

And then Andrew attacked. He knocked Seth down and got on top of him, pinning both hands down with his legs while he pressed his left elbow to his throat and the blade to his jugular. 

Everyone in the room seemed on edge, Renee was holding back Allison but seemed ready to intervene, Matt and Dan held each other, Kevin hadn't moved and Aaron was on the edge of his seat- ready to jump in if necessary- and Nicky kept saying something Andrew was ignoring, instead focused on staring Seth down. 

There was genuine fear in his eyes, the look of a man who had ignored a threat and knew he would be paying for his stupidity. The way it should be. 

"Would you like to say that word again?" Andrew asked, voice devoid of any tone and emotion, even though he felt rage boiling inside him and his whole body ached with the struggle of keeping himself from killing him just yet. "Huh? No more smart words from you? Okay. But this was your last warning huh? Next time you try using that word, you'll be dead before you get to the g." With that he got up as if nothing had happened, kicked Seth in the ribs for good measure, put his knife away and left the room.

He only managed to take a few steps away from the door, towards Wymack and the two women, when Allison came bursting through the office door, mascara running with her tears. 

"What the hell did you think you were doing?! You _monster_!" Behind her every other Fox seemed to have left the room too, Nicky, Aaron and Kevin keeping a calculated distance. "You could have killed him!" 

"What is going on?!" Wymack bellowed, eyes going from Allison to Andrew. "I left you guys alone for two minutes!"

"This _psycho_ threatened to kill Seth!" She pointed at Andrew. "With a knife to his throat! He's not a Fox! He should be in jail!" She sobbed.

Andrew didn't even bother explaining. This whole thing was pathetic. 

"Goddamn it, Minyard!" 

"Fuck, Andrew! This is why we can't have nice things!" Nicky sobbed.

Oh. What was that? Was the little ingrate actually implying Andrew was exaggerating? After beating up four skinheads to save his ass? After threatening Seth to make the environment safer for the flamboyant goth idiot? This was the thanks he got? 'That's why we can't have nice things', as if Andrew was the one constantly getting in trouble and needing someone to save him.

"A-Andrew?" 

And for the second time today he had a knife to someone's throat, this time Nicky's while he pinned the much taller man to the wall. "Next time I'll let him insult you, we'll see if it escalates or not, huh? I'd think you wouldn't want to get beat up to shit again but what do I know." He whispered, practically hissed, then backed off. 

"Minyard!" Wymack called again and Andrew still ignored him. 

"F-fuck Andrew…" Nicky managed a broken gasp.

Andrew stepped back, putting some distance between himself and everyone else without turning his back to the room, heart racing. 

"I don't need your shelter for broken kids, clearly you let just anyone in here," he offered them a two finger salute and began towards the door. "I'll see myself out."

People called his name, he heard Wymack curse the existence of psychotic punk midgets with knives, but Andrew ignored it. The rage was burning too strong inside him, dangerously so. One wrong word and someone would be dead and this time he wouldn't have a car accident to let him off the hook. 

And then, like magic, he saw his favorite obsession clutching that stupid bag like a lifeline sitting on a bench with a newspaper.

…..

"Runaway," Andrew's voice snapped him back to reality for the second time today. Fucking asshole was everywhere. 

"Andrew. What do you want?"

"I want nothing," Andrew answered and sat down, immediately lighting a cigarette then offering Neil one.

Neil felt surprised and was about to say no when he realized he could use one. He had been walking around for too long, exhausted from looking for a place that'd be cheap, not ask any questions and take payment under the table.

"Thanks," he mumbled and accepted the lighter next. "Weren't you meeting the Foxes?" Neil asked and got a simple shrug as a reply, "They must be fun then." 

Neil took a drag to get the cigarette going and turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

"Apartment hunting?" Andrew asked him after a long silence. "Fancy for a runaway, no?" 

"I have some cash. I'm looking for something cheap, the kind of place who takes payment under the table you know?" He offered. "Not that it's any of your business what I plan or don't plan on doing."

Andrew had no reaction at Neil's words. He simply sat there, smoking in silence and lit a second cigarette when his first hit the filter. 

Neil turned his attention back to the newspaper, circling and marking down any places that might be worth checking out.

"You're not gonna have much luck with that shit," he gestured vaguely at the newspaper then got up. 

He didn't tell Neil to follow him, but he could tell that's what he wanted him to do, and for some reason Neil did. 

They walked a few blocks, Andrew leading as if he knew exactly where he was going, like he grew up here. They passed the Foxhole, a basketball court and kept going, the buildings becoming duller, stores smaller. Neil could recognize a bad neighborhood anywhere in the world, and this was probably the closest thing to one Palmetto would have. 

They finally came to a stop at an abandoned hotel with an empty pool where some teens were skateboarding and listening to music. 

Andrew jumped the fence with no trouble at all and Neil followed, eyes already scanning and calculating every possible escape route. He was, after all, carrying almost 2 million dollars on him. 

He didn't go to the teens, he walked right past them and went to the back of the motel where a man sat counting money. 

Oh. Did Andrew bring him here to watch his back while he scored? Without telling Neil? 

Andrew didn't strike him as the type to do drugs, but then again his twin had, so maybe Andrew did too. Coke, Neil guessed. Andrew was too violent and alert for pills and weed. 

The man was on high alert as soon as he saw them, the gun on his hip not hidden at all. A warning. Neil guessed that in his line of work he knew trouble when he saw it, and Andrew and Neil were nothing but. 

"Haven't seen your faces around before," he said, eyeing them from head to toe. 

"We're new in town," of course Andrew didn't elaborate. 

"What's your poison?" 

"Actually, we're here for something a little less addictive. We're new in town and money is tight. You wouldn't happen to know where we might find a place renting?"

Oh. So Andrew's not a junkie, huh?

The guy seemed to study them for a moment and finally relaxed his posture, figuring they weren't looking to rob him or cops or any sort of threat. 

"Hernandez has an empty unit. Up the street, number 88. Tell him Miguel sent you, takes cash, no questions asked," he stopped and rubbed at his chin. "Oh, and if you're looking for something without the addiction, check out Sweetie's in Columbia."

Andrew simply nodded and turned then left. 

Neil kept his eyes on the man- Miguel- for a second, instinctively watching Andrew's back before following him back out to the street when he felt secure on the fact Miguel wasn't about to shoot Andrew in the back.

He stopped as soon as they had jumped the fence and straightened his back while staring at Andrew, his casual and unshaken posture as if he jumped chain link fences every day (which maybe he did), the neutrality and boredom that his face seemed permanently stuck on. He was irritating. Too hard to read.

"Why are you helping me?" 

He hadn't expected an answer.

"Because I can't live in a motel," he shrugged one shoulder. "We find a place with two bedrooms, rent gets cheaper for us."

"Aren't you staying with your family at the Foxhole? Or at Wymack's with Kevin?" 

Andrew stared Neil down without answering his question and Neil sighed in frustration. If he had to guess, Andrew already had managed to get himself kicked out of the shelter, but Neil wasn't about to agree to share an apartment with Andrew Minyard without checking why.

Andrew didn't share. He made it clear a few days ago when they had stopped at a motel for the night. Everyone shared a suite, no one really caring about the fact that the room only had two beds, but not Andrew, the asshole hadn't even talked to anyone about it, simply booked his own single room and locked the door. 

"Andrew, aren't you staying at the Foxhole?" Neil insisted.

Andrew turned that bored and stationary expression Neil's way, eyes finally meeting his. It felt like Andrew was trying to burn a hole through Neil's head.

"I don't do shelters," he shook a cigarette out of the almost empty pack and began walking towards the liquor store across the street without even looking before he crossed.

Cars honked and tired screeched but Neil followed him anyway, rolling his eyes.

"Because you don't share," it was a statement,not a question.

"Yes," Andrew answered anyway. "I don't share. You're not as dumb as you look."

"Yet you're willing to share an apartment?" 

Andrew huffed, "Two packs of Camels, a bottle of Jack and a vodka. I don't care which one just make it drinkable," he told the man, handing him an ID Neil would guess had to be fake before turning back to his conversation with Neil. "As long as I have my own room." 

Neil nodded. It was a reasonable request, he supposed. He wouldn't care about sharing a room, not really. He _knew_ objectively he should stay at the shelter and save up some money… But wasn't he trying to do things differently this time? Wasn't Neil supposed to be all about breaking free from his mother? 

"Fine. Let's go check out the place," he sighed and watched the man hand Andrew a bag with his purchase once Andrew handed him the money. 

…..

The apartment was better than Andrew had expected it would. It was small but had two bedrooms and a closet in each one, a bathroom with a shower-tub combo and a small living area with a tiny but seemingly functional kitchen along the wall. 

It wasn't much, it wasn't clean, wasn't even furnished, but the doors locked- all of them locked with different types of keys too, Andrew would add a couple more locks but he was impressed with the quality of them- and the price was low enough that Andrew and Neil felt comfortable paying. 

The man- Hernandez- who rented it was also a nice bonus. He didn't ask questions, had them- well, Andrew- sign a monthly lease and put three months in advance- which Neil did in cash. 

Hernandez was the owner of the gym downstairs and all his tenants- currently consisting of a mother and daughter across the hall, an old lady on the floor below that looked like she lived through every single war and a few college students in the apartment across from her- had free access to the gym. 

It was the kind of place where everyone minded their own business, Andrew had lived in a foster home similar to this. The only explicit rule was to keep the noise down after midnight. The unspoken ones were: don't ask questions, don't stick your nose in other people's business, even if there's screaming (which definitely never sat right with Andrew but in the end he could live with it as long as no one bothered him).

And then, by seven pm they were back at Wymack's. 

They would have gotten there earlier, but Wymack didn't exactly live downtown and they had no car, so they had to walk for a good hour and a half (because Andrew absolutely refused to walk any faster than a leisure stroll, fuck Neil and his 'Let's rum's suggestion. Fucking rabbit.).

"Where the fuck were you?!" Kevin yelled as soon as Andrew and Neil walked through the door. 

Andrew ran a hand through his hair, ignoring Kevin as he fished a new pack and the bottle of vodka out of the brown paper bag he had Neil carry- fuck it, he was getting a car first thing tomorrow. 

Kevin's expression went from murderous frustration to gratefulness really fast at the sight of the bottle. 

Their time together at the Hemmick's had been an interesting learning experience, one of the many many things he learned about Kevin Day was that a bottle of vodka in his hand would shut him up any time of day and leave only the annoyances that were _related_ to Andrew for him to deal with. 

"I was out apartment hunting," Neil offered when Andrew made no move to reply. "Andrew ran into me and joined."

"And you didn't think to pick up your phone?" This time it was Aaron's turn to berate his twin. Related annoyances. Andrew was still figuring those out. "I was worried Andrew! We don't know this place! We don't know the people! You could have gotten hurt, lost- you could be dead! We were almost going around asking 'Hey! Did you see a guy who looks like me around? Black armbands, probably committing some type of felony?'" 

"To your misfortune, I am very much still alive," he tapped the bottom of the pack until a cigarette popped out and smoothly placed it between his lips and lit it. "Maybe next time." 

"Well, after that stunt you pulled today I honestly thought we'd find you dead on the floor of some underground fight club," Aaron said bluntly and stood up from his spot on the floor, leaving the brand new skateboard he had been tinkering with behind. "You put a knife to Seth's throat, you put a knife to Nicky's and for a second I actually thought you'd attack me next." 

Andrew took a step forward just as Wymack stepped into the living room, arms folded over his chest. "Thing 1 and Thing 2, don't you fucking dare."

Andrew did not miss the way Neil tensed behind him. 

"Thing 1, we need to talk," he said sharply and motioned for Andrew to follow him into the kitchen. His tone was much lighter when he spoke to the runaway. "Neil, good to see you back. " 

Andrew didn't move and inhaled before he even thought about speaking. Too many people getting all up in his business like this made him miss juvie and all the people that just left him alone.

"I'm not your responsibility," Andrew shrugged. "This is none of your business." 

"It is when you put a knife to two people's throats inside my shelter and are spending the night under my roof. That kind of behavior won't be tolerated again, Minyard. We talked and I'm willing to make an exception this time, but a repeat performance won't be tolerated."

 _We_. Andrew noticed. The fuck-ups and Wymack? Nicky and Wymack? Andrew wanted to ask, but didn't. It didn't matter. 

"Staying here tonight or going back?" He turned to Neil instead.

"Staying. I could use a shower and I'm tired," Neil answered honestly before his eyes suddenly went wide like a rabbit facing a dog. "You can go back if you want!" 

"Minyard!" Wymack huffed in frustration at Andrew's lack of answers.

He dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and stepped on it, indicatively not looking at Wymack as he made his way to the kitchen, "Runaway, pizza or chinese?"

Wymack didn't seem to get what Andrew was trying to say and followed him into the kitchen.

Andrew reminded himself that Wymack wasn't a threat, that even if he were he wouldn't do anything with all the other people in the other room, but that didn't stop his body from going on high alert and snapping around, right hand instinctively ready to take out one of the knives from his left armband, leaving the drawer with the takeout menus to slam open on its own. 

Wymack seemed to notice and left his hands where Andrew could see them, palms facing forward.

"I just wanna talk, Andrew," he stepped towards a chair slowly and sat down as far away from Andrew as he could in the room. 

He was trapping himself so Andrew wouldn't feel threatened. Huh. Maybe Bono here really did know a thing or two about real life. 

"Then talk," Andrew deadpanned and turned back to the drawer to look for a place that didn't sound like shit. 

He very carefully ignored the prickling sensation on the back of his neck and the memories of other times he had been alone in a kitchen with men twice his size.

"Listen. I can see the way Neil steps back every time I entender a room, the way Aaron is constantly fidgeting, how Kevin holds a guitar like a shield, how you were ready to pull a knife on me just then and how Nicky avoids crosses like a fucking vampire," the older man let his eyes drop to the table before they turned back to Andrew. "I can tell you're not gonna be staying at the shelter and I'm not asking why, it's part of the whole thing that you go there on your own, but I would make an exception for you this time Andrew. Your family will be there, safe and sound, and I know that while they might not say it, they want you safe too. I started the place so people like you won't have to sleep under a bridge."

Andrew found two places that looked decent enough, a pizza place with what looked like an array of outrageous flavors that would make any Italian want to kill themselves and a Chinese place that looked like it was a day away from being forcibly closed.

"Even if you're not staying there, you can still use our resources. Betsy offers a free initial session and subsequent sessions only cost a symbolic amount. Abby is absolutely free should you ever need a blood test or to get stitched up- or a routine check-up. Classes, job program, breakfast, lunch and dinner. You can access it all even if you don't live there." 

Andrew finally looked at the man and was met by a face much too tired and eyes that gave away nothing but sincerity and empathy. 

He didn't reply, simply raised both menus as if asking which one was better and Wymack pointed at the pizza one. Andrew nodded in what was the closest to a thanks anyone would ever get. Most people would be huffing and groaning at Andrew's lack of answers, annoyed at feeling ignored. David Wymack wasn't. He knew Andrew wasn't deaf. He was listening. He deserved that nod.

"Anyway, kid, at least consider Betsy. She's a great therapist, or so I'm told."

Wymack pushed his chair back slowly and began getting up, hands rubbing his face as if it would rub the tension away.

"How safe is that shelter of yours?" Andrew asked. "How many people in a room? What kind of people?"

"Very safe. Two or three. Runaways, recovering addicts, pregnant teens, people getting away from abusive situations... But don't worry, we don't let kids with drug habits room together, your brother will be safe, regular blood work is one of the few requirements for staying there. Bedrooms don't lock. Bathrooms have stalls but are comunal. I've covered my bases as best as I could."

Andrew nodded and left the kitchen before he could give anything else away. David Wymack was too observant, he seemed to read Andrew's unspoken questions too easily, wasn't scared of Andrew, and that was almost an issue on its own. When people weren't scared of him they underestimated him, they thought too much about him, they obsessed and watched. 

Andrew ignored the thoughts of other observant men- _no_ they hadn't been observant, they had been fixated- and turned to his new roommate.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are supposed to get a little more interesting from here. I'm changing a few plot points so they fit the world I'm working on a little bit better.  
> This story won't have an update schedule, but at least for a short while you can expect new chapter twice a week, maybe even more since I'm writing pretty far ahead for this one.  
> Thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a comment!


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